Shoplifting grandmas. What next?
I climbed to my feet to find Alucard and the Huntress striding toward me. Her face glowed with excitement as she held out her bow. Then she patted another large bag that held boxes of arrows and whatnot.
I nodded, returning a thin smile, and then motioned for them to follow me, the wooden cuff scratching my wrist with the motion. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 35
Othello leaned back into the couch with a curse, laptop sitting on her knees.
“Still nothing?” I asked absently, scribbling in the book in my lap. I had taken off the Fae cuff bracelet. It chafed, and it made writing all but impossible. It was now tucked away beside Ganesh’s belt in my safe, where no one could get to it.
“She’s good. Or he’s good, considering,” she growled. “But I’m better. I’ll find them.”
“Thanks for trying. Means a lot to me,” I encouraged, mind on my work. I glanced at a clock on the wall absently, wondering why the Huntress, Mallory, and Rufus hadn’t yet called. I had sent them to tail Gunnar. After all, he had obviously been at the abduction site where Ashley had been taken, which meant that he must have snuck into my office at some point after I met Baba. I needed to know what he was doing. I hadn’t tried calling him, unable to lower myself to that level, but I wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. Especially after hearing that he had gone to the Fight Club to let off some steam. And had bought his access to the circus. The Alpha werewolf seemed to be calling the shots lately, not my old friend.
The only way Gunnar could have known about the first abduction site was if he had seen the answer Baba had carved onto my desk. That was the only possibility.
Unless one of my friends had told him.
And I remembered some of the looks I had gotten recently. Was there a traitor in my midst? Someone trying to be helpful by encouraging Gunnar to go rogue, so that I could get a break? The Dark Presence inside me growled territorially, murmuring dark encouragement to my subconscious. I squashed it down, closing my eyes for a moment.
“You of all people should know better than to deface an old book,” Othello said, sounding much closer. I opened my eyes and flinched. She was staring down at me now, peering at the book in my hands.
Through the Looking-Glass.
I closed it sharply, and glared up at her. “It’s… complicated.”
She frowned, sitting down beside me on the large chair, our hips touching. “I need a break. Distract me. What’s so complicated about defacing a book? Either you’re doing it or you aren’t.”
I ignored the familiar warmth of her legs pressing against mine, and glanced back at the book, tapping it with my fingertips. “I sort of have a pen pal,” I said softly.
The room was silent for a full ten seconds. I finally looked up to see a squeamish look on her face. As if overly concerned. I sighed, understanding how that sounded, and not wanting her to feel I was meddling with a demon or something.
“Okay, this stays here.” She nodded, folding her hands in her lap after mimicking a zipper closing her lips. Her smile looked sickly, but she was trying. I couldn’t blame her. Magic was creepy at times. “So, a few months ago, I purchased this book. Well, stole it. From some ogres.”
The look of alarm on her face kept right on growing.
“Let me back up a bit. Remember when all my friends left town and you busted me out of jail?”
She nodded. “Mardi Gras. Fun times. I died.”
I smiled weakly. “Only for a little bit, ya big baby.”
She chuckled at that, but motioned for me to continue.
“Did I ever tell you what happened to me that night? Right before I came to the junkyard?”
She shook her head. “No, but when you died you met the Boatman. Who brought you back. Are you saying something else happened that night?” she asked, incredulous.
I nodded. “Yeah. When I met Death – really met him, discovering who he was – he let me wear his mask.” She nodded, remembering me showing up to the junkyard looking a whole hell of a lot like the Horseman.
“I… remember.” She whispered.
“When I put on his mask, I briefly found myself in a… White Room.”
“Why do you sound like you are emphasizing that part?” she asked slowly.
“Because I’m emphasizing that part,” I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, I don’t know how or why, but I found myself in a White Room. A White World. I was wearing a silver suit, nice silver shoes, but every single thing in that place was sparkling white. A cocaine palace. Couch, flowers, walls, carpets, books, art—”
“Wait. How would art and books be white? Do you mean, a white painting, or a white cover on the book?”
After a brief hesitation, I shook my head. “More than that. The paintings were white in color, but textured. As if someone had white-washed a Van Gogh, or Mona Lisa. I could feel and discern the painting beneath from the textures, as if someone had literally painted over the original with white. But the books…” I murmured to myself, taking a brief sip from the drink beside me, then setting it down. “The covers were the same. White. But embossed so that I could feel the title under my fingertips. When I opened them, even the words were all in white, so that it was essentially like I was looking at blank pages. But my fingertips could pick up that there was indeed something printed on the pages; even if it was barely noticeable.”
“Weird…” she whispered.
I shook my head. “No, here’s where it gets weird. When I looked outside, everything beyond the room was also white. Grass, trees, even the ocean was a milky white. I couldn’t believe it as I gripped the windowsill staring outside at a winter wonderland of sorts. When I leaned back to resume my inspection of the room, I happened to notice where my hands had touched the windowsill.” I paused, meeting her eyes. “The wood was stained a dark, sooty color where I had touched it. I looked to my hands, fearing they were dirty and that I was ruining the place, but my hands…” I sighed softly, glancing down at the book in my lap. “They were perfectly clean.”
“Maybe the paint was wet?” she offered weakly.
I again shook my head. “Nope. My hands didn’t have white paint on them from touching anything in the room. I was staining everything in the room with my touch. Even a book I picked up to flip through.” I leaned back in my chair and took another drink. Othello eyed my other hand, which was tapping the book in my lap.
“But that book isn’t white…” she said, indicating the book in my lap.
I nodded. “I know, but it’s the same title. Through the Looking-Glass. Except it’s black.”
She shrugged. “I could find you a dozen copies of that book in black.”
I looked at her. “Not one protected by ogres. And not an original edition.”
She leaned closer, eyeing the book. “So, what, it’s the opposite of the book you found in that… other place?” I nodded. She scrunched her forehead together in thought. “But… if it’s the opposite, shouldn’t it be entirely black? Pages and everything?”
I smiled, tapping the white paper inside. I let out a breath, closed my eyes, and then caressed the spine. The pages instantly turned blacker than charcoal. I flipped the book open, flicking through the pages, which were now entirely black paper, concealing the words inside. She gasped. The Hatter had shown me how to do it. To conceal our conversations.
I nodded. “I know.”
She let out a shaky breath, and then leaned over to pour herself a drink. She took a healthy gulp, and then stared at me. “What were you saying about a pen pal?”
I let the silence build, wondering how much to tell her. But it felt nice to speak to someone I had known longer than a year. My other friends were all gone. Indie was gone. Dean and Mallory still seemed to be concerned about my mental health after seeing me with the bloody glass, and Baba Yaga supposedly giving me an early birthday present.
But Othello was mostly treating me as she always had. I had caught brief concerned glances
now and then, as if she was aware that something was off, but she still spent time with me, treating me normally.
That was a true friend.
“I saw someone there. In that room.”
She leaned forward eagerly. “Well, who was it? What did he want?”
“I didn’t actually speak with him. Then, a few months ago, when I defeated the Grimms, I found myself back in that room. This book was sitting on the table, with my sooty fingerprints all over it. As if a pointed message that the owner knew of my previous intrusion. I didn’t talk to him then, either. But I decided to buy this book on a whim. Well, kind of a whim. I heard about its origins, and the fact that it was black, and held by ogres who wanted a large sum of money for it. I stole it.” I caressed the spine again and the pages turned back to normal. “The story itself is the same as any other version you would buy. But this book is also filled with spells, notes, circled words, and a whole bunch of other crazy stuff. Almost as if this was a school book that someone was studying. Then, in the back of the book was a bunch of entries where someone was talking to… well, someone else.”
She frowned. “What do you mean? The owner of the book had transcribed dialogue?”
I shook my head. “No, at the time, it was all one-sided. As if the writer was using it as a journal. It was madness. Gibberish…” I turned to the page that had caught my attention, and showed it to her. “Except for this.”
He returned! I hope he saw the book…
Othello read it, blinked a few times, and then raised an eyebrow at me, not understanding. “Who is he talking about?” I simply stared at her, waiting, a weak smile growing on my face. “Wait, he’s talking about you?” I nodded. “But that… that’s not possible!”
I shrugged. “I know. I thought it was someone having a game with me. Mallory, or Alucard scribbling in the book. So, I wrote back, and then locked the book away. When I came back to check it, the book was vibrating, and… someone had responded.”
I showed her the page. Only for a few seconds. She didn’t need to read the entire dialogue. Especially not the most recent stuff.
She flinched when I pulled it away. She stared down at my lap intently, thinking. “Nate?”
“Mmhmm?”
“There are a lot of pages after that, and they didn’t look empty. How long…” she looked very, very concerned. And very, very cautious all of a sudden. “How long have you been speaking with this… person?” I could tell that she hadn’t been about to say person until the last second. More like monster, creature, god.
I understood that. I had had the same thoughts at first.
“Ever since,” I answered honestly.
She shivered, rubbing her arms as her eyes grew distant. “That… that probably isn’t smart… Do you even know who it is on the other end? What if he’s dangerous?” she looked on the verge of tears. Whether it was from fright or concern for me, I didn’t know for sure.
“I’ve met him. While I won’t say he’s harmless, he has helped me a few times already.”
She stared at me, then leaned closer to grasp my hands. The voice roared inside of me, and I instinctively flinched, pulling the book clear of her reach. She sat frozen, arms outstretched, staring at me with shock. “I wasn’t going to touch your book, Nate.” She slowly extended her hands to grip my shoulder instead. “I don’t know much about your neck of the woods, but that sounds very dangerous. Even if he is good. If he lives in a world so different from our own, he might have very different views on how things work. And… he might be using you to… escape.” She finished, watching me.
I was frowning. “It’s not like that. He’s just… lonely.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay. Just…” she took a shaky breath. “Please be careful with him. Whoever he is.”
I didn’t reply, not wanting to tell her the name. But I nodded. “You know me. Always careful. Plus, with my other friends abandoning me, it feels nice to have a friend to talk to.”
Her face paled a bit. “I’m right here, Nate. I know things have been… well, confusing lately, but I’ll always be here.”
I sighed. “I’ve had quite a few people say that in the past.” I held up my hands, displaying the entire room, comprised of just us. “And just look at how many friends I have. Almost as many fucks as I could give,” I added in an angry growl.
Her eyes darted around the room, as if actually searching for people she hadn’t noticed.
I furrowed my eyebrows at her reaction. “No one is here, Othello. I was referring to all my friends being absent. Present company excluded, of course…” I took a big drink, and clapped my hands. “Enough of this. We need to find out what Indie is doing in town. I don’t like it. And not just for the obvious reasons. I don’t quite trust Ichabod yet, and you don’t stroll through an airport with a bloody sword in your hand just to see home again. Something is going on. They have a purpose.”
Othello nodded, eyes still distant as they flicked to the book on the table. I had to consciously prevent myself from snatching it away with another territorial growl.
“Right. I’ll keep trying,” she murmured
“No need, really,” a new voice interrupted.
I flinched, whirling to the sound, whips of fire suddenly exploding from my fists. Othello gasped in fright, jumping away from me. My whip struck her laptop, and it exploded into a ball of flame as it shattered into slivers of metal, glass, and burnt plastic. But no one was in the room.
Othello turned from the burning laptop to me, eyes terrified.
“You heard that, right?” I rasped.
She shook her head. “N-no…” she whispered, voice shaking.
I glared around the room, suddenly concerned that one of those albino creatures had found a way inside. I released one of my whips and reached into my pocket to pull out a decent-sized piece of the glass from the broken window.
After discovering the enchantment on the glass, I had stowed all of the broken pieces away before Dean could clean up the mess, and this piece had been the perfect size for my pocket. That way I could search for the creatures at my leisure, learn more about them. Also, to keep others away from them. If they didn’t look through it, the creatures couldn’t harm them.
I held the glass up to my eyes, and scanned the room. I noticed Othello staring at me in disbelief, shaking her head as her mouth moved wordlessly. I ignored her, wondering if the Beast Master was using some unknown power to speak with me. It obviously wasn’t the albinos.
“This way, boy.”
I swiveled toward the sound and saw Sir Muffle Paws. He was standing in the doorway, watching me, looking completely unruffled despite the whip of pure elemental power crackling on the floor at my feet. “The cat,” I said, stunned. I turned to Othello, who flinched under my gaze. “Did you just hear the cat talk?”
She stared at me, then at the cat, then back at me, shaking her head sharply. “Nate…”
I turned away from her as the voice spoke again. “Follow the filthy feline…” Sir Muffle Paws flicked his tail, and darted from the room.
I recognized that voice. And it wasn’t the cat.
“Fucking filthy feline,” I growled, and strode out of the room.
“Nate!” Othello pleaded desperately, but I ignored her, my vision pulsing blue now in rage. He dared come here. In my house.
He was dead.
Chapter 36
I soon realized that we were headed to Ichabod’s old office in the sub-basement.
Which made sense.
I opened the door to find the old man sitting in the office chair, petting Sir Muffle Paws absently as he watched me. He looked old. Not frail. But hard. Like a weathered oak log. Or like those crazy writer-types. Tired, and exhausted, but still energized with a driving passion. To write that next scene. I still held the whips of power at my fists, having pocketed the glass, and I was ready to use them. Even if I had to burn Chateau Falco down to the foundation.
If it killed Ichabod, it was a price I was wil
ling to pay.
“Speak. I’ll soon be making kitty-sized snacks out of your ass, and it will be hard to understand you with all that screaming,” I snarled. The Dark Presence began to chuckle hungrily.
He sighed, snapping his fingers. My whips extinguished, and the Dark Presence surged inside of me, roaring with outrage at the sudden challenge, begging for me to let him loose. I forced him back down, and then took an aggressive step forward, suddenly angry that I wasn’t wearing one of the Fae cuffs. His magic would have likely rolled right off of me, and I desperately needed an advantage if I wanted to square off with Ichabod. Especially with my powers so limited. “Do you and your friend really want to try this again? I thought you learned your lesson at our first match. Repeatedly.” The cat sprawled out on the desktop, and instantly began to snooze, as if totally unconcerned with the danger I threatened. Even the cat mocked me.
My face grew hot. “I’ve learned a lot since then.” And I instantly regretted ever telling him about the Dark Presence a few months back.
He nodded. “I’m quite sure you have. From my book. The one I first studied. The first of many I studied. In effect, you are threatening me with your vast knowledge of power,” he leaned forward, “that I gave you from my childhood schoolbook. Do you not think I know every line on every page, and that having studied that as a mere child, I could…” he grinned, “school you in the usage of such lessons? Not even considering the centuries I’ve spent honing my craft from the numerous other areas of study regarding our shared abilities?” He leaned back, folding his hands in his lap. “Please. You’re a preschooler threatening a man with a collegiate degree.”
“Using the word collegiate makes you sound like a douche.”
“Yes, it will take me some time to get used to speaking like an uneducated peasant.”
Beast Master: A Novel in The Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Series (The Temple Chronicles Book 5) Page 20
